


Transcendent Pleasures

by misterwoodhouse



Category: Free!
Genre: Clubbing, Cop Rin, Free! Kink Meme, Future AU, M/M, cop sousuke, mob boss nitori, yakuza nitori
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misterwoodhouse/pseuds/misterwoodhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rin has settled into his career as a cop: living life with the eternal high of a man in uniform and a pistol at his will. But he can't help but fondly remember a particularly delectable friend from high school who would make his days impossibly more fulfilling. Unexpectedly, Rin finds his once angelic friend at the center of near-divine debauchery—and he loves it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trembling Mortality.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally started for a really great kink meme prompt, but I kind of diverged. Also, pardon any mistakes; I've done my best to proof read, but I'm pressed for time. I also really tried to make this a one-shot, but it didn't work. I hope you enjoy it!

In a place nestled between fond memories and wistful dreams, Rin Matsuoka remembers Aiichiro Nitori as a fragile angel flying against strong winds. His delicate face, rounded and flushed with embarrassment every once in a while, suited his small mouth and plump lips. His silver hair was cut in a way that somehow carried a look of impeccable elegance, and at the same time appeared gently tousled—as though he had been handled just a little too roughly. Maybe Rin was the one to jostle his pristine perfection in the past, to mar the sweet doll of a boy that kindly called him “senpai.” But with such lovely blue eyes glimmering like stained glass against porcelain skin—and just one sweet birthmark beneath his right eye—Rin was not quite sure how he ever let that boy fly out of his life.

With the case files and stiff responsibility cluttering the police station tonight, Rin could really use the affection of someone like Nitori. The day had worn him down; a sketchy explosion in the lab across town had the squad geared up to go against volatile attacks. What the frantic team failed to realize beforehand was the accident took place in an experimental _lab_. These types of accidents should have been routine by now. Professor Ryugazaki even dared to be frantically displeased by the emergency services’ response. How could they be so careless to send cops when a firefighter was clearly needed? By the time Tachibana rolled in on the fire engine, Rin was nearly as distraught as Professor Ryugazaki.

But primarily, Rin was shaken. The sudden call to arms had startled Rin to the core—these sorts of threats simply weren’t common. The fear worked its way through him like a sleepless night and too much caffeine, making his whole body feel tremulous and weak. What a terrible excuse for a cop.

Rin’s forehead was nearly numb to the wall he had pressed his face against by the time a gentle shake startled him from his thoughts.

“What! I’m ready!” Rin nearly shrieked, whipping around to meet Sousuke’s concerned gaze.

Sousuke gave Rin’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “I don’t think you are.” Sousuke relented an indulgent smile as Rin sighed and relaxed against the wall. “I think you should call it a night. You haven’t been looking too well since this morning.”

“Oh.” Rin screwed his lips into a grimace. An additional preoccupation rocked through Rin as he wondered whether or not Sousuke could feel him trembling. Rin sighed. “I guess—I mean, aren’t there still some files to write up? We can’t be done for today.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll finish up for the both of us.” Sousuke stepped backed and looked over Rin’s form. His forehead creased seeing his best friend so obviously uneasy, back stiff with anxiety and still trying to keep face. “Maybe ease up with a drink.”

Rin took another deep breath. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, now get going.” Sousuke left him with a pat to his shoulder. “You owe me.” He called behind him.

Rin laughed lightly, a weak smile making its way to his paled expression. “Nothing’s free, is it?” For a moment, Rin wondered if he should simply wait for both of them to finish up, maybe take Sousuke with him to ease up…

He shook the thought away with the cool night air, blinking flustered in the darkness of the parking lot as he made his way into his car. No, Rin wanted a different sort of comfort. One with sweet hands and delicate lips. There was no sure way to get it—if anything it would be nearly impossible at this point. This sort of comfort—this person—had a way of speaking frankly and easing Rin’s mind with his earnest words. He had a sweet voice that sung his name like a blessing and cathartic relief. What wouldn’t Rin do to have that sweet boy’s company again?

As he pondered over paradise lost, Rin pulled into a parking garage near a nightclub downtown. The lights glimmered out from between the two ornate doors; hefty bodyguards nodded briefly to let the occasional patron in; otherwise, they persisted with a stony silence of divine judgment to those they denied. Rin’s expression turned to one of critical consideration. He had wanted to get into this club for a few weeks now, but no one seemed to know how to do so. Only shady characters hiding in the corners of the big city were allowed, and Rin didn’t exactly have society at his beck and call. Still, he could only imagine the grandeur and epicurean delights hidden behind those doors.

Tonight would be the night Rin dared to enter that godless realm. He hadn’t properly planned; he wasn’t sure what he’d do if they wouldn’t speak to him (could Rin bring himself to bribe the bouncers?); his clothes may not be suitable attire to demand even a mere glance his way; but what he was sure of, is that no cop is getting into that club.

Rin dived to the back of his car with a nervous energy quite unlike the one that burdened him all day. In fact, it forced that wicked beast of a plague off his shoulder to claim its own ponderous place upon Rin’s strained and stressed back. (He may need a swim after tonight to work it off.) He found the set of spare clothes he left in case he was feeling brave enough for this very task—although, “brave” didn’t quite seem to suit this occasion. Perhaps “curious” sounded a bit better. He clumsily stripped out of his uniform within the car, struggling to stay beneath the absolute exposure of the windows and hoping for shelter under the night’s supervision. He slid on slate gray pants and buttoned up a navy silk shirt. He said, “fuck it” to the tie and went for a laidback look, but with nice shoes, _of course_. And as he busted out of his car, stumbling, making sure no loose gun found its way on his person, he started up with a stiff gait towards the entrance of the club. He hoped to any merciful God that this sort of “stiff” was at least the authoritative one, and not the hopelessly awkward one he felt as sweat dewed on the back of his neck. Being a little bold—or oblivious—Rin skipped right pass the line and straight to the bouncers. Their height or their impervious demeanors allowed them to look right over Rin’s head for a moment, but Rin offered a weak cough to their silence.

He cleared his throat again before he spoke. “Matsuoka. Rin.”

For the briefest moment, doubt struck Rin cold and drained the blood from his face. What if they knew the name of every cop in the city? What if they thought he was _undercover_ —badly—trying to _uncover_ some sort of drug scheme or prostitution ring?

Just before terror broke free onto Rin’s face, one of the bouncers looked right into his wide eyes. He turned to his partner for bit, whispered into his ear without leaning towards him—and somehow Rin still couldn’t manage to understand what they were saying. A brief conversation on a headset by the second bouncer, and the first one looked back down to Rin. Behind the sunglasses, Rin wasn’t sure whether this gaze was threatening or approving. Then the slightest of nods began Rin’s night; the bouncers stepped out of his way. They opened the door, and Rin walked in holding his breath.

A long hallway lined with marble columns and paintings surrounded Rin on his walk to the main rooms. It crushed him with its superiority; harnessing the might of an ancient Greek temple, some tribute to an unknown God Rin wasn’t aware he was ready to worship. The magnificence was nearly overpowering; excitement was simmering under his skin even before he could indulge in the center of extravagance itself.  

But when Rin walked into the ample hall—capped with a dome ceiling decorated by glorious depictions of Homer and Sophocles adorning the arches, held up by monstrous columns that made humans seem so incredibly small—the thick air of cigar smoke stung his eyes and made him cough. Rin squinted through the lights, between the crowd of women and men littered with jewels and fine clothes. Some were dancing, drunk off their asses, turnin’ up for the night. Others talked over drinks and cigars like guests at a gala.

“God fuck; how’d I get in here.” Rin cursed under his breath, seeking out the bar so he could at least revel in this momentary heaven with a little bit of alcohol-induced ease. “It was Sousuke’s idea…”

By the time Rin made it to the bar, he was startled into a fragile reality. He felt remarkably out of place. He had been invited by some generous host, an omnipotent fancy playing on Rin’s humble expectations. It was as though the rift between man and divinity had shifted; Rin had stumbled upon Mt. Olympus.

What sort of person lived in a world like this?

Rin sat at the bar. Its cool surface glimmered with the specks of granite, looking alive under the fluttering lights in the room. He asked for a Greyhound, looking around for others possibly enjoying a drink while he waited for his. There weren’t too many people seated—in fact, there was only one person accompanying him at the far end of the bar. In the haze of cigar smoke and the frantic lights, the slender patron appeared as an impervious God among the carnage of human disaster. Their posture betrayed absolute boredom, an almost petty displeasure with the surrounding world, so finite and weak to their heedless will.

The lights shifted then, to a monochrome bright strobe that slowed time around Rin; everyone moved incredibly slowly. But surrounded by these mortals dragged down by time, this figure remained eternal as a marble sculpture. Rin began to move toward them, compelled and trapped by this change, this somehow proof that he must try and speak to them. He wanted to pass through this impenetrable wall separating their worlds, understand where Rin had found himself, and why they no longer were entranced by the pure excellence of this pantheon. As Rin drew near, he could see their hair gleamed under the lights, a shimmering silver framing a round face with plump lips, a birthmark just beneath—

“Ai!” Rin shouted in shock, stumbling back against an empty barstool behind him. The music drowned out his voice; his old friend’s face of calculating intent was interrupted by one blink before Rin’s clutter made him look up.

“Rin senpai?!” Nitori’s voice screeched up octaves with each syllable, honest surprise widening his blue eyes and jostling the neat strands of his hair. He was just as Rin remembered him, except maybe a bit more sharpness to his face—a sure sign of the years they spent apart.

Recovering from his fall, Rin made his way over to the seat next to Nitori, still feeling as though he left earth further behind him with each step. But Nitori’s familiar face in this grandiose room was like a full moon illuminating the night sky.

Nitori’s expression shifted by the time Rin was settled. The shock settled into sweet, undiluted joy. Nitori’s lips formed an earnest smile that glowed in his clear eyes. Before either of them could think, Nitori had leaned across the space between them and grabbed Rin’s hands, clutching them with a gentle force. “Rin-senpai, what are you doing here? It’s been so long!”

Rin’s smile was caught between disbelief and relief, relishing the feel of soft hands clutching his in this insubstantial realm. “I—I decided to have a night out. Work’s been rough.”

Under the frantically shifting lights, Rin saw the briefest falter in his little Ai’s expression. It was the quickest flash of distance freezing that warmest of faces into cautious reserve, a face that Rin could only vaguely recall seeing when Nitori studied or left the room to speak on the phone. But it left so quickly that Rin couldn’t mind it. He was indulging in the familiarity of his presence. “I could imagine that. You work so hard, senpai.” Nitori smiled up at Rin, nearly bouncing with glee as he met Rin’s gaze. “What are you drinking? Do you have a drink? I can buy you one.” Nitori blushed a deep red all the way to his ears once he heard his own words. “I—I mean, I can recommend one. I’m sure you can pay for your own. I’m not trying to pick you up or—“

Rin’s laughter cut off Nitori’s nervous rambles. The once uneasy cop felt the tension slip right out of his bones. “Don’t worry, Ai. I have one. But maybe I can get you one.” Rin smirked, leaning against the bar with a nonchalance he wouldn’t have believed a few minutes ago.

Nitori resumed his smiles, although a little more humbled than before. “How about a single malt scotch then?”

“Straight? You don’t want a cocktail or something?” Rin questioned a bit tactlessly, somehow not being able to comprehend little Ai as a whiskey kind of guy.

“Oh, I just grew a taste for it.” He looked down abashedly, but Rin ordered the drink anyway. As Rin sipped on his drink, Nitori spoke with in a quiet voice, nearly impossible to hear over the music and noise that surrounded them. “I’m really glad to see you again. It’s been so long…” The bartender dropped off the whisky, a quick bow to Nitori before he stepped away. Rin wondered if they had bowed when he received his drink. Nitori began to sip on the whiskey with neither a glance to the bartender nor a flinch at the strength of his drink. “I went swimming earlier today, and I was missing our team, and you as our captain…you’re such a great captain, senpai.”

Rin watched bewildered at the strange sight before him. He was falling back into a strange surrealist work of a world, seeing Nitori command such unwavering self-possession as he drank whiskey like water, appearing at ease in this strange club. The words escaping Ai’s lips like a confession felt like fond nostalgia, but the backdrop and props were nothing Rin had ever known. He needed to take back the room.

“Ai?” Rin breathed his name, calling forth an authority often paired with his pistol and uniform.

Nitori glanced up, letting Rin see those docile eyes he remembered. “Yes, senpai?”

“Do you dance?” Rin clutched his hands at the indirect question that left his lips. “Do you wanna dance with me?” He corrected himself quickly, pushing the offer off his tongue before Nitori could respond to the first brittle question.

“Absolutely!” Nitori took Rin’s hands and rushed up with the type of zeal Rin was hoping for, the sort he remembered. He let himself be brought the center of the room, all the people clearing a path for them as they saw them approaching. For such selective crowd, there were oddly polite.

Now, if Rin were being honest, he would admit that he couldn’t really imagine Nitori as a good dancer. He was a dedicated swimmer, persistent and hardworking, but this didn’t exactly match up with the fluidly and confidence needed to be a good dancer.

Oh, but tonight was a night for unnerving surprises. And if this one was unnerving, it was mostly due to the fact that Nitori was making Rin feel a little too hot under his clothes. His little Ai might even dance better than he could swim; he had the smooth self-possession of a trained professional, moving his body like a fine piece of art. He met every beat ringing out from the speakers with flourish, becoming a physical manifestation of sound.

Rin’s body was nothing but heat at the sight. He stepped closer, inviting Nitori to pull him into his enchanting rhythm. Nitori only gave Rin a side-glance, but his body was absolutely inviting. The fine flush of a flustered red rose onto his cheeks; Rin took it as encouragement, and pulled Ai close. A startled yelp came from Nitori’s lips, but his hands tentatively made their way onto Rin’s shoulders.

Unbeknownst to Rin, however, was the attention they had garnered. The crowd had stepped back from where they danced, the two obviously indulging in the presence of one another while others observed them with curiosity brimming in their eyes. When Nitori brought his hands onto Rin’s face, delicately slipping his fingers into his silky red hair, the crowd modestly looked away.

At the intimate touch and slight tugging of his hair, Rin looked at Nitori through half-lidded eyes. Nitori brought their faces together; their noses brushed against each other. A wicked smirk made its way to Nitori’s lips as he glanced at Rin’s face; a self-conscious blush that he couldn’t have dreamed of years ago was now his sweet reward. He hovered his mouth over Rin’s, waiting for the desire to burn in his eyes. He gave a teasing bite, then a coquettish lick, until his lips devoured Rin’s like a dessert.

Initially, Rin was shocked. A shiver ran down his spine, his eyes widening at the feeling of Ai’s mouth hot against his. But all too eagerly, he returned the kiss with equal force, putting his hands on Ai’s waist and grinding against him. Nitori’s hands tugged harder on Rin’s hair, bringing the taller boy lower and making him gasp. Nitori’s mouth moved down Rin’s jawline, licking and kissing his way down to the supple, smooth neck of his now prone and panting partner. He bite at the skin pulsing madly under his vicious touch, a faint moan falling from Rin’s lips like an offering to the divine being pleasuring him to artistic excellence. And Nitori made sure to beckon forth every worthy sacrifice of Rin’s once impervious pride, leaving bruises as blessings along his neck. As Nitori brought Rin’s eyes back to his—finding in his friend’s deep red eyes a delectable look of desire—another shudder raked through Rin’s body.

But this one came from his back pocket; shuddering with a disruptive persistence that Rin shook his head in a futile attempt to steady his thoughts. He stumbled back, digging into his pocket, and found his phone. Sousuke’s name blinked across the screen.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Rin muttered under his breath, looking back up to see Nitori straightening his blazer, and approaching Rin with only a bit of redness to his face. The suit was nice on him, though.

Ai smiled evenly. “Do you want to get a room—“ Rin raised his brow at the question. Nitori frantically corrected himself.”—For the phone call!”

Rin slid an exasperated hand down his face, a sigh escaping his lips. “Nah, it’s fine. But I have work in the morning…” He looked Nitori up and down, appreciating the form-fitting suit that clung to his tone body. “Will you be here again this Friday?”

Nitori laughed richly; Rin felt he was missing the joke. But the petite boy’s smile returned to his face, and only had the slightest hint of a secret gleaming in his eyes. “Oh, I’m always here.”

The two started to walk towards the exit, Nitori attentive by Rin’s side. Rin took a couple breaths to cool down as the fantasy of the pantheon thrived behind his back. “Really? You’ve become quite the life of the party, haven’t you, Ai?”

Ai glanced at Rin through his lashes, a coy smile teasing Rin’s composure. “Do you think so?”

As they reached the doubles doors that once hid secrets—now they only censored pleasures from dull reality—Rin pushed Nitori against the wall, lowering his face to the other’s shocked countenance, speaking impossibly close to his lips. “I do.”

He kissed Ai fleetingly, with the fervent force of sparks shuddering to life at the first touch of fire to their fuel, erupting with chaotic majesty that’s missed the moment it’s gone. He whispered huskily into Ai’s ear. “I’ll see you soon.”

Rin pushed through the doors then, heated by his own actions and Nitori’s irresistible appeal. The two guards imposing by the door and the line of people hoping to gain entry did not faze him. They couldn’t at this point. Rin was overwhelmingly occupied now; dialing Sousuke’s number, approaching his car in the lot, and preparing to drive bitterly back home, strung up and half-hard.

As the club doors swung closed behind Rin’s departing figure, Nitori stepped out. His eyes watched Rin fondly, his hands coming up to hold his own flushed cheeks. A content sigh left his lips as he leaned onto once of the bouncers. The man flinched at Ai’s touch. “What a wonderful night.” He breathed affectionately into the night air; a nervous sweat dewed on the bouncer’s neck.

Suddenly, Ai’s dainty fingers clutched the fine material of the bouncer’s sleeve, yanking the nervous man down to his eye level. There was a smile on Ai’s sweet face, but a dangerous look in his fluttering eyes. “If you ever see that man again, I don’t want you to look at him. Send him straight to me.” He tossed the man back, making the burly guard stumble a few steps behind him.

The bouncer swallowed thickly, betraying his nerves with a furrow to his once dauntless brow. “Yes, Aiichirou sir.”

A nearly angelic glow returned to Ai’s face. “Lovely.” And he reentered the club, leaving no solace behind him but the promise of Rin’s return.  


	2. The Density of Reality.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With morning comes realizations, as well as the pestering demands of obligations.

“Jesus fuck, I know I told you to relax, but I didn’t realize you’d go all the fuck out.” Sousuke teased Rin as he pulled down the collar of his police uniform, exposing the colorfully bruised skin of Rin’s neck to the crisp early morning air. They were exiting their apartment complex; the sun emerging from behind the horizon. It brightened the sky into a tender blue expanse, and paled the moon’s once glowing countenance. The street was quiet and mostly empty, nothing but the scattered chirps of birds filling the air with a weightless mirth. Their song ran like vibrant energy on the breeze, brightening Sousuke’s smile as the two prepared to start their day.

 

However, Sousuke’s unfortunate partner could feel the absence of sleep substantiate in the burning strain of his eyes and the dewy feeling that covered his skin. He was enveloped in a thick layer of lethargy; nothing but the comforts of his bed and a down comforter could shed this second, unnatural skin. Rin shook off the prying hands that smeared and spread his discomfort; an uncomfortable edge entered his voice. “Will you shut up? I wasn’t planning on this! And if I was, I wouldn’t be such a dumbass to make it so visible.”

 

Sousuke raised his brow, teasing Rin with every subtle gesture of his calm demeanor.  “And since it seems that the worst of it’s already visible, I’m guessing you didn’t get much farther?”

 

Rin felt the pounding of an oncoming headache. “Are you fucking—no, Sousuke. As you already must know, since you called me last night, this is pretty much all of it.” Rin rubbed his temple and settled into the passenger seat of the car. He put his head down and closed his eyes, attempting to sleep, but agitation was alive and thriving under his skin. “Buy me a fucking doughnut.”

 

Sousuke chuckled as he backed the car out of the parking spot, his carefree—almost careless—hands spun the wheel liberally as he put the car in reverse. Even after becoming a police officer, Sousuke drove barely touching the wheel, just one palm pressed against the leather upholstering; he moved with the ease of a teenager playing an arcade game. “I was just worried when you weren’t home. Didn’t want to find you in the morning drunk on the curb.”

 

Rin sighed, watching Sousuke maneuver the car smoothly; he wasn’t particularly good at staying angry with Sousuke; just beneath his teasing, there was always concern surfacing in his friend’s earnest eyes. “Thanks. I still want my doughnut, though.”

 

Sousuke gave Rin an angelic smile; his tone was honeyed and doting. “Anything for you, princess.” Before Rin’s indignant expression could articulate itself in a string of venomous words, Sousuke snuffed his energetic fury with a question. “So, where’d you end up going?”

 

“Oh—“ Rin’s eyes brightened quickly, a gleam of almost childish excitement eclipsing his former rage. “You know that club I’ve been looking at for a while? With the incredibly long lines, and pretty doors, and really big and intimidating bouncers?” Rin paused and bit his lip for a second, letting the question float in the air for a moment. But his own elation bubbled over and overwhelmed the delicate framework of mystery and suspense; his voice crumbled the silence of tense anticipation. “Well—I got in!”

 

“What!” Sousuke’s voice hit an almost comically high pitch in his surprise. After all this time of considerations and delays, the place of Rin’s hopes seemed like such an imaginary place, as though there was nothing behind those doors at all. “That’s madness!”

 

“I know!” Rin’s smile broadened, his face was absolutely cherubic with glee.

 

Sousuke sliced Rin’s bliss with the swift knife of his wit: “You’re not even that cool.”

 

“I kno—hey!” Rin turned away with a petulant pout. “I’m cool enough to get in.”

 

“Evidently.” Sousuke indulged his sulking friend, glancing over to properly enjoy Rin’s bristling posture. “Were you even dressed to get in? I highly doubt a cop in uniform is welcome at a place like that.”

 

Rin’s eyes widened, he squirmed to avoid Sousuke’s glance, and looked resolutely out the window. “I, um, I had a decent change of clothes on me.”

 

“Change of clothes?” Sousuke quietly contemplated the fact for a few moments, not quite noticing the nearly palpable mortification emanating from Rin in the seat beside him. “Oh,” Realization bloomed on his face like a wicked flower; he smiled mischievously, and laughter rung heartily from his lips. “You were ready for this! You’re incredible, Rin. Did you pack your best outfit? Were there cuff links and blazers straight out of a yakuza boss’ wardrobe?”

 

Rin shrunk towards the window, crouching into himself with his arms crossed. “No…I just had a casual outfit lying around…”

 

Sousuke let his laughter roll off him in waves, overwhelming Rin with a fresh layer of embarrassment as Sousuke’s delight mellowed out. Admittedly, Sousuke felt a bit guilty for teasing him so much, especially since it brought such earnest joy to Rin’s eyes. If this Rin was the replacement for yesterday’s brittle excuse of a man, Sousuke would take it. “Don’t blush now. It was a good idea. What was it like? A place like that has to have some nice secrets hiding behind its burly men and fancy doors.”

 

Rin sat up in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck with tempered enthusiasm. “Well, it was—wow. Where do I start? I was scared shitless, Sousuke.” His eyes glowed with an almost unreasonable excitement, the mixture of unnerving strangeness and enthralling fascination flooding him again as he recalled the night before. His memories had the transparent quality of dreams—somehow unreachable from the simplicity of his daily life, impossibly distant from this scene of riding with Sousuke to work another day. “The hallway alone was something out of a renaissance painting. It could have been the Sistine chapel—with cigarette smoke thick as fog. Or like clouds at the peak of the Alps; I don’t know. It was absolutely unreal.”

 

Sousuke pulled into a parking lot, allowing the car to roll slowly along the rows of filled spots as he watched Rin’s wonder fill his face. The nearly glassy-eyed look reminded him of their time as children; Rin’s enthusiasm for everything mysterious and new always seized him with a nearly dangerous intensity. He was the manifestation of romantic and poetic; naïve and easily swept away by sweet promises and visual beauty. For as shallow as it might seem to Sousuke, he knew Rin always perceived more in these surface features, always dreamed of a delicate truth woven just underneath and awaiting to be unraveled by his loving patience. Perhaps Sousuke was one such figure long ago to Rin; existing first as a fascinating idea, and then manifesting into a fully fleshed friend whom he could write to and share his confidence with. These sentimental notions and tendencies didn’t _need_ to make Rin weak; they bound him together as a person, brought him and Sousuke close—kept them close after all these years. But recalling Rin’s fragile nerves crumbling like ancient ruins yesterday—every hour bearing centuries worth of mishandling, disturbing the precarious realm of poignant and profound beauty he existed in—Sousuke felt a maddening impulse to lead Rin away from the temptation of those smoke-filled halls he was dreaming about.

 

Sousuke let the silence stretch on as he reversed into a free parking spot. Rin’s eyes were still glazed over in reverie, thinking over small details and indulging in the feeling of frank daylight being superseded by the enigma of night. Sousuke sighed as he put the car into park; the car’s engine halted as he took out the key. “You should watch your back in places like that. They must have a reason for maintaining that type of security.”

 

Rin turned to Sousuke, eyes fluttering back into practical clarity. “I guess you’re right. There must be some shady shit going on.”

 

“Yeah.” Sousuke stepped out of the car; the scent of baked goods, warm and comforting, wafted from the small bakery and relaxed his shoulders. “Now hurry up and let’s get your doughnut. I don’t want to be late.”

 

“Alright!” Rin stepped out of the car, light as a nymph. He walked cheerily by Sousuke’s side at the prospect of a morning treat, catching the taste by the scent that was floating thickly in the air.

 

The morning’s gaze hovered above them; it glared heavily into Rin’s eyes, forced him to squint; his mind shred its luminous, overpowering yellow into comprehensible shades of blue and green. His smile faltered ever so slightly; his thoughts ran back to Nitori’s pensive face seated at the bar, critical and analytical in a room of sweet abandon. The sun’s heat drew beads of sweat to his hairline, made his shirt collar uncomfortably tight around his neck. Against the illuminated gray of the parking lot’s smooth pavement, their shadows trailed behind them tall and imposing, bearers of secrets wandering around brashly in the gentle sight of day. Rin hushed the oddities of a brooding face murmuring doubts into his ear; he ignored the second sun burning behind his eyelids every moment he blinked.

 

Surely, everything would be fine.

  

* * *

 

 

The sweetest object in _this_ room was a slice of strawberry shortcake served on a flat piece of round, spotless porcelain. Admittedly, this sort of dessert is not particularly cloying; it also lacked the actual gustatory weight to be definitively called “bittersweet.” What it did have, though, was two layers of sponge cake that managed to harness the weightlessness of clouds while maintaining its own reality through the anchoring flavors of butter and vanilla; the whip cream frosting that capped and cradled each of the two layers of cake existed in the conflicting form of a high density yet completely malleable consistency; the strawberries cut into thin slices and hidden beneath the layers— as well as the singular strawberry poised whole at the top of the neat little cake—screamed at the frantically high pitch of “tart” as they simultaneously hummed at the low, mellow note of “ripe.” Thus, while it stood as the sweetest object in the room, it also served to enliven Nitori’s tongue to a state of unrest equal to that of his preoccupied mind.

 

For a couple of hours now, Nitori had been ruminating over delicate circumstances; he dismantled his cake with small bites as each minor facet of his conflict emerged as a new, independent obstacle. The smooth upholstering of silk on the pillows he lay against felt like a mockery to the tempest of his thoughts. This physical world was almost an illusion to the reality he knew would be substantiated through his actions; scenes of discord were already puncturing and tearing the delicate fabric indulgences he leaned against.

 

Occasionally, in this space of external silence and cluttered thought, Nitori pushed away the pillows from where he sat on the ground; he splayed his body across the cold marble floor and allowed the stone’s cool touch to emphasize the immediate world that surrounded him. Even after reaffirming the fulcrum of his existence, he remained overwhelmed by an empty room, which whispered obligations incessantly into his ears. All he asked of it, though, was not to shift into chaotic scenes of an indeterminate future he had yet to navigate through.

 

A knock came from the door; Nitori continued to stare at the impeccably white ceiling. At this time, his cake was nothing more than crumbs and stray whip cream staining the plate; the pillows were decadent islands of dreams floating in the unyielding reality of eternally solid marble tiles; somehow, Nitori believed he could drown in this room, in this world of stained opulence.

 

Another knock came at the door; a timid voice followed a moment later: “Aiichiro sir, he’s here.”

 

Nitori blinked; he languidly pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked impassively at the door. His hair was in slight disarray, mussed by the haphazard postures he had taken in order to think; his shirt was unbuttoned and wrinkled into an odd, sluggish shape around his body. Whenever he glanced at the lights, he saw irritating auras glowing around them; they followed him into the darkness within each blink, blazing like an inferno even when he wished not to see.

 

He swallowed thickly, preparing his stale, unused vocal cords to speak with the authority he needed. He managed to sound only a little weary as he spoke. “Come in.”

 

The door opened to reveal the tall, imposing figure of his guard; the man stepped to the side, and a cheery voice butchering Nitori’s name like a child’s song introduced the man, his “guest,” before his guard could.

 

“Ai-chan!” Nagisa Hazuki stepped lightly into the room, flitting over to the low table with the disruptive force of a fantasia. He sat poised and orderly, his legs curled underneath him, and his hands feigning subservience by deigning to lay clasped on his lap. His flippant and wavy blond hair betrayed the truth of his frivolous manners and impertinent character. And at this moment—looking expectantly at Nitori from across the table—Nagisa was radiating with a cheeky jubilance at the irony of Nitori’s disheveled state.

 

Nitori grunted a frustrated sigh; refusing to sit up for the trying man in front of him. “Don’t call me that.”

 

Nagisa responded by rolling his eyes to glance at the distant top right corner of the room; it could have been the act of a placating adult dealing with the whims of a spoiled child, or a rotten little boy mocking authority. “Anything for you, Oyabun.” His lips remained in a taunting pout after the last syllable.

 

Nitori clamped his jaw shut with an audible snap; he grit his teeth and ground his patience into a fine, useless powder. “You know I’m nothing like that to _you_.”

 

“Oh, I know.” Nagisa titled his head to the side, lowering his once wide and gleaming eyes to half-mast. “I just wouldn’t want anyone to believe I lacked any sort of deference, is all.”

 

Nitori didn’t speak. He merely glanced to the side, his expression unamused.

 

“But I have a proposition for you.” Nagisa’s gaze did not stray from Nitori’s face. “Have some sake with me.”

 

Before Nitori could object, a man he did not know brusquely entered the room. Nitori’s blue eyes widened in shock for a moment; his body frozen stiff at the intrusion. The man, however, swiftly set the table without a word. He left a ceramic bottle of sake and one wide-brimmed cup between them. He filled the cup carefully, being sure not to let one drop stray onto the table or drip down the side of the bottle. As the door closed behind Nagisa’s departing attendant, Nitori blinked into incredulous animation. “You’re sacrilegious, Hazuki.”

 

“Don’t be so formal with me, Ai-chan.” Nagisa smiled like a glimmer of moonlight on the surface of calm waters, baiting Nitori into the fathomless depths. “Call me Nagisa.”

 

Nitori scoffed and sat up. He put his elbows on the table and leaned against his knuckles. “I’m not drinking that.”

 

“Oh?” The monosyllable came out low, a heavy undercurrent to Nagisa’s tone. He reached out and picked up the full cup with two hands, holding it like a fragile offering for the gods to his own lips. He was entirely consumed with the ceremonial act, eyes closed with his lashes casting elegant shadows onto his smooth skin. He raised his head and held the cup towards Nitori, his gestures evoking deep reverence but his eyes burning with subdued treachery.

 

As Nitori took in Nagisa’s stance, the silence of the room filled him with a horrendous sense of doubt. Within his slender frame, a weakness trembled up his spine and melted him into a wavering mess of a man. He tightened his fist in an attempt to unite the self that was spilling onto the table and turning into a low viscosity puddle of submission, a sacrifice to Nagisa’s pleasures and power, slithering down his throat like chilled sake. Nitori blinked, and the possibilities spread out before him like a sensory map, each potential outcome quivering with the potency of nerve endings and threatening to send back pain for the smallest of blunders. He opened his eyes, taking in Nagisa’s face again, and then glanced into the sake hovering between them in Nagisa’s palms. A reflection of the plain, white ceiling onto the surface of the sake created an inscrutable illusion.

 

However, Nagisa’s impatience cost him: he pushed the cup forward just a bit, if only to goad Nitori a little further. The liquid shifted in the cup, the reflection dispersed, and Nitori could once against see right through the transparent offer. He raised his eyes back to Nagisa’s, the unbridled zeal leaving a foul taste on Nitori’s tongue.

 

With a turn of his lips and a wrinkling of his nose that evoked acute disgust, Nitori smacked the cup from Nagisa’s hands. The porcelain collided with stonewall, shattered with a glorious clamor of pure contempt, and echoed with omnipotent judgment.

 

Nagisa’s eyes widened first in amazement, but quickly recoiled into an infuriated sneer that marred the beguiling innocence of his face. He brought his hands up towards himself, daintily poised like a refined man at the prospect of filth. “Ai-chan—“

 

“We’re not working together, Hazuki.” Nitori was sublime nonchalance, running his fingers through his hair and closing his eyes to live purely in the moment of physical sensation. “I don’t have time to entertain your business on my turf.”

 

Torrid vexation was stirring just behind Nagisa’s eyes; it filled his expression with a violent red blush of warning. But he bit his tongue. These sorts of debacles were handled in other ways; they included different men. Nagisa did not work through the ranks to spill sake on his suit; he did not burn his hand for entry as a docile, weak, and pleading boy. Nagisa was different from the other recruits—he had always been so. When he smeared his blood on another man’s savior, watched it burn in his hand, and scar the delicate expanse of his weak and flawed mortal flesh, it was not for the “supreme boss” that stood above him. No, Nagisa had a grander scheme; he was working to actualize an existence far different from anything that finite man stood for. During that revered reception ceremony years ago, Nagisa saw in the fire burning against his flesh a superior reality, one that could only be characterized by the unrelenting, intangible life of the flame itself.

 

Nagisa swore he would be the flame; he left promising himself that he would see Nitori burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to actually call this a yakuza Nitori AU. I'm going to do my best to read up on it, in order to be as accurate as possible. But this is a quick study type of thing, and if there is anything glaringly wrong I would appreciate being corrected. Also, I'm mostly going to allude to ceremonies and rituals rather than name them outright; I feel as though the experiences speak for themselves (hopefully). The honorifics are also something I don't feel particularly confident with; feel free to correct me if anything appears particularly off.
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	3. Ingredients.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many incomprehensible parts to the glaringly obvious whole.

A torrential affair tore open the heavens. The once gentle, affectionate clouds that floated calmly overhead had churned and bristled into violent displeasure. Their once pearly white tint—light and caressing in that infinite expanse watching over fragile mortals—now bore down heavy and oppressive with a dense, solemn gloom. Lightning sliced the thick barrier of storm clouds at odd turns, putting into frightening relief a celestial terrain of merciless peaks and unfathomable trenches. Thunder echoed and quaked from above; it splintered and demolished any relics of comfort salvaged between the disturbing sparks of lightning, which paled the city with its ghastly, lifeless hue.

 

Despite this vicious storm unequivocally dismantling the frail frame of human joy, Haruka Nanase remained perfectly content. Perhaps this truth could be owed in part to that fact that Haruka had remained indoors since the storm began. But it was mostly due to the fact that Haruka had a rich internal life that was only minimally sustained by the world that surrounded him.

 

At this time, he could be found standing ankle deep in a salt-water pool, breathing in the moisture floating thick in the air and wafting under the cover of his gazebo. The pool stretched out before him, safe from the heavy downpour pounding away at the clay shingles just above, a raucous symphony playing counterpoint to Haru's imperturbable composure. His pool was carefully laid out in smooth curves and stones, an abundance of verdure surrounding it on all sides. Cherry blossoms bloomed just beyond the gazebo's shelter; their petals drifted through the air, and began to litter the surface of the water. Behind him, the sand of a rock garden led to a glass screen door; its lofty dimensions revealed the inside of a bakery. The humble interior was adorned with earthy wood seats and tables carved from dark stone. Moss covered rocks and bonsais made the cafe a nearly seamless extension of the building's exterior; it was a place built precisely to indulge Haru's unquenchable need to swim and the more practical desire to bake.

 

Haru smiled to himself on days like this; business was slow and the rain was lively; he was nestled among the most gratifying pleasures life could offer him. At the time, the plans for his café arrived like a gift from an affable deity; it lit a flame within him, and urged him forward into the escapade. He drafted numerous potential blue prints; days and nights worn away at a desk, under a humble light. It was exacting work—almost painful even. But what he gained was a life woven from the mystifying fabric of dreams.

 

The sound of a door opening floated through the front room, and whispered into Haru's ear. He walked back inside, greeting with a pleasant grin the comparably boisterous and irritated cop that entered the room. Water dripped from every inch of Rin’s body; he was hopelessly shaking out his hat, accompanying the act with a murmur of curses under his breath.

 

"You weren't late this time." Haru spoke calmly, observing the spectacle of Rin inspecting his uniform. The rain had been unforgiving upon the man.

 

"Yeah, well to be frank, I'm surprised. It's hell outside, and traffic was a motherfucker." Rin looked up at Haru, his voice came out with airy exasperation. "Got any spare clothes?"

 

Since high school, Haru's stoic face had been known to express a plethora of emotions once thought unimaginable during his reserved childhood and adolescence. He wasn't quite so unapproachable anymore, and perhaps this was a result of being able to live inconspicuously, without the burden of expectations piling high on his back. Now, approached by Rin’s weary tone, he offered a raised brow and a teasing glow in his eyes. "Here? Of course I do."

 

Rin walked further into the cafe, passing by Haru, and pushing him lightly on the shoulder. His lips curved into a small smile as he walked past him toward the screen door. "It's polite to ask, you know."

 

But they both knew that Haru's near constant impulse to swim was no longer dominated his life; between baking with the finesse of a sculptor and lounging in the water, he needed an abundance of clothing to assuage his fluctuating desires. Hence, the armoire of fresh clothes was always available at the exit to the pool. However, there was also a supplementary washer and dryer in the back should even that reserve be exhausted.

 

Haru watched Rin sift through the hangers and drawers. His feet left wet patches on the ground as he approached Rin, spotting the remnants of a bruise on his neck. In his busy mind, filled with thought and stirred by intrigue, Haru left that detail close at hand for questioning later. "Did you have any preferences today? Business is slow now, so there's nothing in demand."

 

Rin sorted through the clothes he had chosen, and looked back at Haru. The two of them had eased into a routine between the schedules of their mutually exclusive careers: once or twice a week, Rin would take a long lunch break during his day shift, and spend it baking with Haru. Without immediate access to regulation pools—or even time to indulge the competitive drive that burned between them—baking became a nice way for them to enjoy each other's company. It also became beneficial to their aging friendship, since they no longer needed to sacrifice conversation due to being underwater. Although with the pool as a natural extension to Haruka's business, they still spent a considerable amount of time in the water together.

 

With Haru giving him free reign to decide upon their upcoming task, Rin happily allowed a catalogue of delectable memories to caress his tongue, the flavors acting as sirens to his cravings. He smiled broadly as he recollected the sensation of consuming dense chocolate cake coupled with a smooth mascarpone frosting and the shrill tartness of raspberries; the scent of baking chocolate nearly emerged—substantive and potent—in the breath he took in. Rin sighed dreamily at the thought. "I could really go for a chocolate cake today."

 

Haru shrugged complacently; he gave Rin time to soak in the memory of the cake he envisioned, entirely stolen away by the charms of its textural and gustatory experience, as well as everything he might be able to attach to it. If Haru didn't stop him, he wondered if maybe Rin would start upon his own Swann's Way, or even a life-long journey in search of lost time. Before Rin could venture upon this voyage, Haru interrupted him. "I'll get started on the cake. How many layers?"

 

Rin blinked back into the room, pulling away from the ghosts tantalizing his taste buds. "Um, maybe two or three? A tiered and layered thing would look nice." Rin headed to the back in order to get dressed.

 

"You have such a thing for aesthetic." Haru mumbled to himself—for himself. There was a funny catalogue of details he could recall at any moment related to Rin; it fueled him with a gentle mirth in his hours of solitude.  

 

As Haru began to slice bittersweet chocolate on his cutting board, silence descended upon the bakery. The dark shards crumbled at the tips, and gathered into piles of thin flakes on the bamboo. Rin took his time drying off, slowly pulling on and adjusting Haru’s clothes to his own body. Haru began to think over the measurements he would need; the pans that needed to be buttered and floured; every single ingredient nestled in its own particular corner within his kitchen; the cake was taking shape in his mind. A gentle click of a lock floated small and inconsequential across the bakery. Rin spoke from behind Haru, nonchalant and unguarded. "I'll grab the flour this time; there's some over here."

 

But as the simple offer struck his ears, Haru's back straightened; his eyes widened, and he took in a sharp breath. "Wait—" The word rose as a whisper onto his lips; a nervous tension grasped and squeezed his throat. His knife clattered onto the granite counter as he ran to Rin. "Don't—" Haru's hand quickly grabbed Rin's wrist, pulling hard enough to whip the man's unsuspecting body towards him. "I'll—I'll handle the flour."

 

Rin stared into Haru's eyes, bewildered by the frantic look he received and the nearly painful grip latched onto his wrist. "Um, sure. I knew you were neurotic, Haru, but I really thought it was just a swimming thing." He gave an uneasy laugh as the fingers loosened around him.

 

Haru released a long, relieved breath; he slid a hand across his face. "Yeah...yeah." His response was quiet and breathy, almost a reassuring mantra for himself rather than Rin. "I just—I grind it myself. It's delicate."

 

Rin put his hands up, stepping back from Haru's unnerved form. "Don't worry about it; I should have realized, since I never see it around." A bakery like a castle, Rin wanted to say; a multitude of chambers he might never truly know. He wondered if Haru would ever open those doors for him. "I put my clothes in the wash, just so you know. What do you want me to do first?"

 

Haru took another calming breath. "Finish chopping up the chocolate I have out. I still need to figure out how much we need."

 

"Gotcha." Rin smiled contritely, moving to where Haru was working before. He could hear the clang of stainless steel measuring cups and the ruffle of bags as Haru gathered supplies. The look in Haru's alarmed gaze flitted into his thoughts; Rin shook away the odd vision.

 

Approaching without the slightest of noises, Haru leaned on the counter beside Rin. He had regained his composure, and was taken with the task of looking over his busy companion. Haru focused on his neck. "Are you dating someone?" He asked with only the slightest bit of curiosity evident in his even voice.

 

Rin jumped, the knife nearly sliced the tip of his index finger, and a vibrant red rushed to his face. "N-no! What makes you think that?"

 

Haru furrowed his brow at the response. "Your neck. It looks like its been kissed." Rin's hands froze again over their task as Haru contemplated a bit. "Although, it's a bit dull. It couldn't have been last night; and you don't go out on weekdays."

 

Rin gripped the knife stiffly; desperately clinging onto his self-possession with the ferocity of a man who knows the conversation will not go his way. "I, um—" Rin felt himself on the uneasy ground of either explaining when he was kissed or by who. Haru was too perceptive. "I go out on weekdays, sometimes."

 

Haru looked intrigued. "Really? Were you meeting up with someone?"

 

"No!" Rin answered too quickly; there was only one way this could go.

 

"So you met someone." Haru filled in the information. "You never seemed into excessive necking; you must not have slept with them. Did you just meet them?"

 

"Ah—" Somehow Haru had surmounted Sousuke in his mortifying inquisition; Rin's ears were impossibly hot; Prometheus himself may have even misplaced his precious fire just underneath Rin’s skin.

 

"No, you're too romantic for that. You knew them." Was Haru descending like Zeus to dole out eternal suffering upon Rin's poor, fragile nerves? "Who was it? A college friend? High school?"

 

Rin's mouth stood agape as a clamorous collection of incoherent noises struggled from his throat.

 

"Rin?" Haru smiled to himself; he may have pushed him a bit too far.

 

The malfunctioning cop clamped his mouth shut; he sucked in a breath, and spoke at a nervous octave slightly higher than his normal voice. "I knew them in high school."

 

Haru figured as much. Rin wouldn't be so flustered about someone his inquisitor had never met. Haru waited for Rin's elaboration. When it didn’t arrive, he prompted him with a patient drawl: "You knew him..."

 

Rin spoke curtly, barely surrendering the words from his lips. "It was Ai. Aiichiro Nitori."

 

"Oh!" Haru's expression shifted into fascinated surprise—although, Rin couldn't enjoy this blatant display of emotion since he was dutifully avoiding his gaze. "I didn't realize you were keen on him."

 

"I wasn't back then!" Rin snapped defensively.

 

Haru remained unperturbed. "Of course you were. You don't just hook up."

 

Rin struggled with an indignant need to deny the statement but also reluctant resignation to the truth of Haru's words. There was something uniquely frustrating about childhood friends.

 

Haru lacked some tact. "So, are you dating?"

 

Rin burst: " _Holy fuck_ , Haru—what the _fuck_? _No_ , we're not dating! It's the first time we've seen each other in _years_ and I was drinking and he was dancing, and I got carried away, and Sousuke called, and no, I didn't sleep with him, but if I had, it would have been hot as _fuck,_ and I would have remembered to get his god damned number, but it was a fucking Tuesday and I had work in the morning and god damnit, Haruka, I didn’t really think about it!”

 

Rin panted as he recovered from his stream of consciousness. Haru stood up, and took the knife from Rin’s hand. “I’ll be taking this for now.”

 

“Haru, you fucker!”

 

And mildly dangerous distractions ensued before any proper baking could commence.

 

* * *

 

 

Raindrops gathered on a wide window; fog clung like frost where a pair of lips hovered close to the glass.

 

“Oyabun, he’s here.” The voice announced his guest; he offered no response. But in the reflection on the window, where the darkness of the storm had imbued it with the opacity of Iago’s Mirror, a wicked smile widened over glimmering, white teeth.

 

A few steps clicked onto the dark wood floor; a door shut; the guest spoke with the rich baritone of freshly roasted cacao resonating torrid bitterness down to the listener’s very core: “I’m surprised it took you two days to greet me.”

 

“Rei-chan,” Nagisa hung affectionately on the name, drawing it out over his tongue. “I only ever allow obligation to prolong my absence.” He was speaking slowly, observing the same delicacy as a ballerina dancing on pointe. He turned with fluttering eyes to observe the tall man now standing just before the chaise longue he reclined upon. He reached forward and pulled Rei down by his tie, brought their faces close together, and spoke barely touching his lips. “I missed you.”

 

Rei grabbed Nagisa’s waist, pushing the coquettish, slender man close enough to kiss; mouth open; tongue caressing. He teased the lips that readily responded; savoring Nagisa’s supple skin under his hot mouth and clutching palms; whenever Nagisa felt that Rei was getting too spoiled, he bit at this lips and called forth an angry red onto his complexion. Rei slipped his tongue into the heat of Nagisa’s mouth; teased the sensitive skin within, greeting the ripples of his palate and the eager tongue he longed for. They both pulled back for air with a gasp, basking in the moment by peering into each other’s eyes.

 

Nagisa smiled broadly, shifting to bury his face in the crook of Rei’s neck. “I thought you would be tan this time. Columbia’s such a sunny place.” He took in the scent of Rei’s skin, running his nose along his lover’s neck.

 

Rei ran his fingers through Nagisa’s fluffy hair; there was a slight dampness that gave him the impulse to pull Nagisa’s sweet face back to his. He resisted. “I wasn’t keen on the idea of sunburn; I did my best to stay in the shade.”

 

“Ah-hm.” Nagisa hummed his approval, candid joy quivering in his voice straight through Rei’s relenting flesh and down his spine. He tapped his fingers lightly on Rei’s back, enjoying the familiar body in his embrace.

 

Rei slid his hand underneath the silk robe covering Nagisa’s dainty shoulder, pushing it back just enough to lay a kiss upon it. “You seem to be patient today.”

 

Nagisa’s shoulders shook in soft laughter. “I have a favor to ask you.”

 

Suddenly, Nagisa’s hands clung onto Rei’s shoulders, nails bearing down like claws and digging into the thinly veiled flesh. He peered into Rei’s face, his countenance set into the stone-like severity of a marble sculpture transcending time to relay judgement. “Be more careful with your work; I don’t need you garnering unwanted attention.”

 

At the reproach, Rei flinched. If not for the hands painfully grasping his shoulders, he would have defensively adjusted his glasses. “I’ll let you know that was none of my doing; and the response was amateur. They were easily dissuaded.”

 

“But Rei-chan—“ Nagisa swayed to the side melodramatically, easing up from his stiff authority but retaining the sharpness of his gaze. “I don’t even want you _talking_ to them. This was far too close.”

 

Rei swept Nagisa’s now indolent body into his arms, and laid him down onto the chaise longue. He slipped his knee between the bare, outstretched legs now exposed by the unruly robe, running his hand up Nagisa’s thigh. Nagisa giggled at the touch, reveling in the sensations he had missed while Rei was gone. Yes, it was necessary, and it _was_ Nagisa’s doing, but having Rei away on trips was uniquely and excruciatingly agonizing.

 

Rei brought down his face to speak into Nagisa’s neck. “Don’t preoccupy yourself with the matter. Makoto was there soon enough; the cops made a quick departure. I did, however, need to make a show of my frustration. Although as it was, I was already thoroughly vexed by the time any help arrived. I merely needed to be a little more verbose on the matter.”

 

Nagisa pulled Rei’s face back to meet his. “Be wise of interlopers, Rei-chan. Were Rin-chan and Yamazaki present?”

 

“They were, but Rin-san was losing his nerve, thus I don’t believe he was being particularly observant. Yamazaki, on the other hand, was rather diligent in his duties; although, he wasn’t allowed close enough to observe anything out of the ordinary.”

 

Nagisa considered this for a moment, his eyes looking distant. “It breaks my heart to know the life Rin-chan’s living.” Nagisa gave a petulant pout. “He’s so unreachable now.”

 

“Only because we’re wise to keep our distance. I would advice you not to make yourself present among them. Although, I do agree that it is unfortunate.” Rei’s brow furrowed just a bit, but he had spent too many years being careful to wallow much in the loss.

 

Nagisa beamed up at Rei, giving him a playful tap on the nose. “I know, Rei-chan.” He lowered his lids and shifted his simper into a smirk. “Now, will you kiss me again, Rei.”

 

“Only certainly.”

 

Nagisa would delay further business until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm effectively losing sleep over my compulsive proof-reading, but I can't be bothered with that now. Especially since excessive proof-reading really only gains me a certain numbness and insensibility to the words. Also, I highly recommend looking up Fred Wilson's "Iago's Mirror" for a nice emotional and visual reference of the cheap literary allusion. I have such a weakness for these things. 
> 
> Oh, and I apologize for my poor attempts at humor. I'm really just not that funny; only every incidentally so.
> 
> I also appreciate all the kudos and comments; they make me quiver with joy and smile all day long. I really didn't expect any of it. I hope I have brought a little more pleasure to my readers' lives!


	4. The Sensation of Motion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the weekdays approach their end, and serendipity wilts like roses left in a vase; retrospect ages its novelty.

Nestled among the earthly pleasures of a sumptuous velvet duvet and white pillows filled generously plump with eiderdown, Nitori emerged from his sleep with the grace of a gladiolus blooming towards the beckoning glow of sunlight. His arms arose first, dainty stems with elaborate images tattooed across his flesh all the way up to his wrists, a dense garden of radiant paintings bearing the illusion of ornamental cloth; only his slender hands retained the pristine sanctity of his guileless porcelain skin, presenting themselves as the glorious petals of his flowering. Down the length of his arms to his torso, the ink carefully staining his skin worked like an unruly tangle of vines, reaching just underneath his collarbones to the curves of his hipbones, wrapping around him like a flowery robe.  

 

Nitori yawned with a drowsy sense of satisfaction, stretching in order to reclaim his body from the numbness of dreams. He slowly blinked, meeting the gentle sun’s gaze as it shed absolution onto the landscape once shrouded in night. There was a pleasant absence of thought; a simple morning that was as thin as the light pouring into the room, creating a transparency that made Nitori feel boneless, only living in the negative space where his sheets brushed against him.

 

But of course, there was a knock at the door. And even if it barely held together as it traveled across the bitter length of the room and through the radiance of the sun subduing its strength, Nitori knew it was demanding. He sat up among the comforts of his bed, hair sticking up and clinging to the side of his face. His voice felt distant, like an ephemeral thought fluttering incoherent and vague in the back of his mind.

 

Another knock; and it imposed a solid reality he didn’t quite want to meet yet. The sound reverberated in his ear, reminding him of the internal self that operated in this tall room and laid out plans for a vast network of men that could rewrite Greek mythology with the tasks they fulfilled and the whims they heeded. His blood pulsed veraciously in his ear, uttering the proof of his existence with such a miserable tenacity that he wanted to submerge himself in the senseless realm of dreams or the fog of belligerent abandon.

 

Nitori clenched his jaw, solidifying himself by the pain spreading outward from his teeth like a root reaching greedily into the earth. “Come in.”

 

The door creaked gently open; the butler stepped in with a bow. He didn’t venture further into the room. “Good morning, Aiichiro sir.”

  

Nitori pressed a palm to his eyes, snuffing out the now red glare of sunlight from underneath his closed lids. His fingers tensed against his dewy skin. “Run my bath. I’ll be out in five minutes.”

 

“Yes, sir.” The butler bowed despite knowing that Nitori had sealed his gaze shut. But the compulsion was impossible to ignore; the room was watching him. He stepped out, closing the door behind him.

 

The room descended into a renewed silence; a growing awareness of the day arose with a pink flush to his cheeks that spread up to the tips of his ears and down the pale expanse of his neck. No longer just the far-reaching pulse, but his heart hammered heavily in his chest, and resounded a poignant understanding of where he sat today. Nitori curled inward, bringing his arms and legs close to himself, slipping underneath the blankets and feeling a stark contrast between the chaste beauty of their compassionate warmth and his frayed, flawed self.

 

“Oh my.” He murmured into the mattress, leaving his words to be swallowed and muted by the abyss of its dense upholstery. He wrung his hands together, moving with a painstaking consideration that creaked at his joints like a door nudged open to steal a peak behind a locked door. The skin of his cheeks now felt scorching against his fingers, as though they dared to burn straight through the sanctuary of the white bed, dared to reach toward the sun and proclaim its own indecent sort of exposure. He bit his lip and felt the weakness of his body give way to the hours that waited ahead.

 

Nitori’s words were surprisingly meek in the grand Grecian room. “I get to see Rin-senpai today…”

 

* * *

  

The coffee was bitter today. And not in the way Rin generally expected his black coffee to be, but more in the unnerving way poisons were bitter at the back of your tongue, making you feel for moment that you should retch back up what you’ve just eaten, and never take it up again.

 

He let the cup sit in front of him for a moment after his first disconcerting sip. Sousuke was stirring a silver spoon in a cup of Darjeeling tea, seated across from Rin, leaning his chin into one hand and gazing out the window.

  

It seemed Rin was the more awake of the two. “Hey, what are you thinking about? You seem out of it.”

 

Rather than appear stunned from a dream, Sousuke deliberately turned to look in Rin’s direction. The morning had been quiet; they were running patrols, but it was more like leisure rides around the city. It was making Rin a bit antsy being in the car for so long; he had nearly convinced Sousuke to start dropping by houses to make calls. Sousuke had scoffed at the idea, and persuaded Rin to take a more stationary break from work at a café. Really, Sousuke nearly expected Rin to pull out a stack of calling cards from the 1880s. “Nothing in particular.” He took up his teacup, and drank from it with all the delicacy his brusque kindness could offer such a fragile creation. “Dare I say you’re focused for the day, or are you daydreaming about tonight?”

 

Rin scowled, asserting his attentiveness more by his unruffled demeanor than his words. “Actually, I was just wondering why my best friend is being so dull.” He rolled his eyes, dragging a finger around the rim of his mug, looking into the dark reflection on the still surface. “And I’m much cooler than you let yourself believe. Although, I do understand.” Rin glanced upwards to Sousuke’s intrigued expression, offering mock pity with a pout and shimmering eyes. “It must be intimidating having a friend like me.” He barred his pearly pointed teeth in a quizzical smirk. “It’s okay, though; I’ll get you into the club tonight.”

 

Sousuke scoffed (it was an action that Rin often evoked from Sousuke); Rin had such a way with his bravado displays it made Sousuke wonder how his friend could melt at even the most tepid interactions. “I’m sure you could.” He was laying sarcasm thick like cement over his voice. “You don’t even know why they let you in in the first place. I’d be wary to make promises you can’t keep.”

 

Rin’s lips were caught between a frown and pout, but it was surely petulant displeasure; Sousuke was too good at moderating his egotism. “You’re such an ass, Sousuke.”

 

“Just keepin it real.” Sousuke shrugged, ready to smooth over Rin’s dissatisfaction. “Hey, you down to crossfade before we head out tonight?”

 

“What?!” Rin squeaked, sitting up straight and frantically bringing his hands onto the table. He leaned over, and spoke in a harsh whisper while scanning their surroundings with distressed eyes. “Are you mad? You can’t say that in public while in uniform. You’re a cop!”

 

Sousuke laughed lightly, enjoying the vivid concern playing on Rin’s face. “Calm down; no one’s listening. And stop being so pious, you know you love it.”

 

Rin’s whisper sounded like an angry rush of waves colliding with a jagged cliff face. “I don’t love anything illicit while on duty. I’m a professional.”

 

“But you were so into it in college! And it did wonders to your libido—I would know." Sousuke gave a lewd smile, something particularly calculated to jostle his long time friend's romantic delicacy.

 

"Sousuke!" Rin whined with petty offense, desperate to defend himself to a man who already knew him quite intimately. "That was between you and me—we don't speak of it!"

 

"Calm down; I'm just complimenting your blowing skills."

 

Rin shru]ank back in his seat, covering his face with his hands. "Stop it, please. Don't go spreading shit like that—I'm not trying to get a reputation."

 

"Hey, I've spent some time on my knees, too. It's fine." Sousuke continued to drink his tea; the juxtaposition of his manners to his words was unnerving. "It just means we're having pretty fulfilling sex. And you're my favorite partner."

 

Rin groaned into his hands. "Sousuke!"

 

“Rin!”

 

A third genial voice interrupted Rin's growing discomfort, and brought the attention of the two cops to a tall man standing just outside their booth. What was immediately apparent was the uniform—different from their own in being black and highlighted by yellow stripes. But it was the smiling face, the soft waves of brown hair, and excited green eyes that shifted Rin’s mood in an instant.

 

“Makoto!” He chirped, pushing himself up and smiling brightly to his friend. “I was going to drop by and see you today! Sit down with us!”

 

Makoto Tachibana, with every bit of courtesy expected from his selfless and generous being, scanned the table first and met Sousuke’s welcoming nod. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

 

“Not really.” Sousuke answered calmly, scooting over to offer Makoto a seat beside him. “We were just reminiscing over college.”

 

Rin rolled his eyes, not trying to goad Sousuke into sharing the details. Neither Makoto nor himself deserved it. He flushed lightly as he caught Sousuke’s smug wink. “But how are you? What are you doing here?”

 

Makoto sat down, keeping his hands wrapped around a steaming to-go cup. “I was just taking a quick coffee break. But I’m glad I ran into you! With our schedules, we rarely ever see each other.”

 

“More so you than us. Firefighting is much more demanding than our work.” Sousuke spoke into his tea, relaxing into the corner of the booth. It took a lot of audacity to be crude in front of Makoto; the thought of such an act might even be enough to bring a self-conscious bloom of sweet pink to Sousuke’s cheeks.

 

Makoto laughed gently, always brushing off flattery with a diffidence that made him absolutely golden to anyone that knew him. “But you two work hard! I was worried about you, actually, especially after what happened on Tuesday at Rei’s lab.”

 

The concern in Makoto’s eyes churned unease in the pit of Rin’s stomach. He stared into his coffee. “We’re fine; it was a misunderstanding, after all. If anything it was more like a fucked up reunion; almost everyone showed up." Rin looked into Makoto's guileless eyes, enjoying the familiar comfort of Makoto's indulgent gaze. "I haven’t really seen you in a while. And Rei seems to be so consumed with work he doesn’t remember to have a social life, but I really should have expected that from someone as neurotic as him. He may even beat Haru.” Rin's lips struggled to keep together a weak smile.

 

But Makoto’s expression seemed caught between compassionate understanding and nervous guilt. “Yeah, who would have thought we’d become so career consumed. The days are too short.”

 

Rin gave a dejected sigh. “I haven’t even heard from Nagisa since we graduated high school. Is he even in the area? It’s like he left the country entirely.”

 

“He wouldn’t be the first.” Sousuke mumbled under his breath. But he focused on Makoto as the affable firefighter responded.

Makoto fidgeted with his cup. “Oh, Nagisa? I don’t even talk to him! I mean—I do on occasion. I’m not sure what he’s doing, maybe traveling? He’s so scattered, and after college things were hectic; I’m sure he’s doing well. He left me a nice voice mail last week—b-b-but we don’t talk much. It’s a shame; we were all so close.” Makoto scanned the far wall of the café, latching his sight onto a small clock on the wall. “Oh my—look at the time, Rin! I shouldn’t have sat down; I need to go. They’re probably waiting for me to be back—But it was nice seeing you two!” Makoto made quick work of his exit, stepping out of the booth, and rushing out the door without even allowing Rin or Sousuke to respond.

 

Now left to themselves, the two police officers blinked, taking in the sudden departure of their old friend. Neither spoke for a few moments, but their individual silences were easily distinguished by the expression left behind with the rush of wind from the door and the coffee Makoto left on the table. While Rin's eyes were wide with a bewildered sense of disappointment that glossed over his sight and nursed a wistfulness for days past within his heart, Sousuke's brow was furrowed, and his eyes glowed with an intense suspicion that brought together loose ends and illuminated dense obscurities.

 

Rin surfaced briefly, frail words crumbling into the open air. "That was almost nice."

 

Sousuke spoke faintly, his distant eyes trained on the door. "Yeah."

 

But between them a burden of thoughts was colliding; the thick miasma of dissatisfaction and unease caught their tongues and ran rancid down their throats with every breath. No words would dare struggle up to their lips, lest the brittle semblance of their selves be corroded by this external world, which increasingly pronounced its own boundless and abstract existence. The thick fog crept into their minds, gathering at the corners and enveloping them in a myopic haze. They became deaf to the silence, heedless to time moving mercilessly forward as they lost themselves to the conflicts of an ethereal world hovering before them, tantalizing and taunting their finite understandings and lives, beguiling them with its amorphous lie. This realm was the furthest from malleable; its airy excellence dared them to grasp it.

 

On the table, a cup of tea and an unfinished coffee grew cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am thoroughly sorry for the excessive delay. I told myself when I started this that I wanted to write at least one chapter a week, but school started, I shifted countries, I'm jetlagged, internet was complicated, and I suddenly became monstrously busy. Still, I will do my best to post at least once a week, and hopefully this won't happen again. 
> 
> As for the chapter itself, I began writing it on time but my last week at home got frantically busy, and traveling really altered how this went. It's a bit shorter than I would like, so I apologize, but the current dissociation that I have from my own current reality has really messed with my ability to comprehend the rhythm of the words. If that is apparent, I apologize. But there are a few parts I particularlay enjoyed writing and I didn't want to delay further, so this is how it'll be. I hope you enjoy it! And I apologize again!
> 
> Part of this was also written while I was drinking champagne, so this is hella self-indulgent. But I'm over it.
> 
> Oh, and the chapter summary may also be an accidental allusion to some nice dialogue written by supercrunch. Totally an accident and really superficial, but I couldn't help but think of as I wrote the sentence down.


	5. Ceaseless Waves.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tides are shifting; the seaman on deck casts a sail in hopes of a breeze. 
> 
> He finds a storm.

Nitori was so exceptionally, nebulously nervous. Within him ran an elemental current that transcended the finite frame of his physical body and sublimated into a frantic fog of exquisite anticipation. The thin layer of his linen shirt was something of a net, attempting to contain his unraveling celestial body with every golden button sewn neatly down the front of its billowing reach to the cuffs grasping his wrists within their starched clutches. He was gathering himself under the satin pants and glossy leather shoes, tying together the loose ends with a bow tie wrapped close around his neck. He took in a deep breath, searching for his lungs with the influx of air. He stared into the mirror that was so impossibly clean it betrayed him, and taunted him with the illusion of another world. He transfixed his gaze onto the blue eyes that bore into him, leveled himself around the solid color reflected impermeably back.

 

A slight interruption came from the door: “Aiichiro sir, Matsuoka has just arrived.”

 

“Ah!” Nitori squeaked, jumped, and fluttered his hands frantically over his clothing, wrinkling and disrupting the carefully tucked in shirt. “Shit.” He hissed, turning around to face the door and his awaiting underling, only managing to compose his features enough to purse his lips anxiously together and look around him with wide, trembling eyes.

 

But what he found at the door was his large, towering subordinate absolutely pallid, his countenance tense and stiff, and his expression caught between confusion and the passions of terror.

 

Nitori’s brow furrowed with an antsy sort of frustration, his voice floating high on the scales. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

 

The man flinched, shaking away some of the confusion. “I’m sorry, sir.” A short pause, and the pitiful man attempted to reign in his discomfort, which so evidently had displeased his superior. “Would you like anything before you meet him?”

 

Nitori’s envied and fabled secret to unwavering omniscience and illusive omnipotence lay entirely in his demeanor. It was his gaze, seemingly steeled with the density of blue diamonds pressured by the earth’s immense depths to an unfathomable resistance, witness to centuries of cyclical human acts, privy to divine understanding of mortality’s faults, that made every man he encountered cower before him. As he bit his lip and contemplated, bringing himself to the consistency of some sort of amorphous solid, he understood that his unfortunate butler was squirming in the most metaphysical way available to a man obliged to “keep face” under the watch of his superior. And at times like this, he would normally relent, be kind and forgiving. But his bones were trembling with a human ache—something so frighteningly weak—that he couldn’t spare patience for anything that extended too far beyond the cosmic cataclysm disrupting his nerves. His voice was something like blades, sharp and thin. “A shot of Patron before I go.”

 

A quick, stiff nod, and his butler rushed off—eager to assuage the curt displeasure striking clear and caustic in his ear from sweet Ai’s words.

 

And Nitori didn’t need to wait very long. He had found that since assuming authority, he never really needed to wait for very much. And so not more than two minutes passed before Ai was greeted by a slender shot glass with a lime wedge on the side, and salt to his pleasure in a small dish. He drank the tequila quickly, taking it in with one long gulp. He dipped the lime wedge in salt and bit into the vicious acidic flesh of the lime. His nose wrinkled ever so slightly; his eyes shut tight around the stark taste striking the far corners of his mouth and rushing up to his head. He shook it off, shrugged his shoulders, and faced the door again.

 

“That will be all.”

 

The halls were cleared by his call; the whole building lay open to his whims; but for Ai it was only one long path to Rin. As he walked out of his room, the sudden presence of alcohol overwhelmed his slender body, and a numb density filled his head. The descent to the club hall was absolutely ethereal; he barely felt the soles of his feet as his steps struck the marble floors. He was floating on the sound waves, thinning out and vibrating on his own emotional current, finding himself far apart and increasingly scattered as he approached the club. The doors gave way at the force of his hands as though struck by wind. His gaze snuck into the dark corners of the room, looking for a set of glimmering, sharp teeth smiling beneath the fluttering lights. Beneath the music blaring over him, filling his ears, weaving around his body, it was almost as though he could hear that longed for voice crying out his name, running on its own current clear to him.

 

_Ai..._

 

He turned around at a faint touch on his shoulder, just slightly grazing a bit of the skin on his exposed neck. Beneath that touch and the sweet song of his name hanging on _his_ husky voice, Nitori's awareness rushed into himself, churning into a pinpoint heat. "Rin!"

 

As he turned around, there was nothing but the bouyant ambiance of Rin's familiar laughter, the anticipation of those warm, red eyes squinted into joyful half-crescents. Nitori could feel his lips substantiating again, moving into a bright grin that sent him back years, shifted the walls, and transformed the room, and—

 

Brought company.

 

Beside the casual elegance of Nitori's beloved Senpai, stood the domineering broad shoulders of a face wrung back up from years past, the dark hair and cool blue eyes carrying an aura of skeptical disinterest. Nitori bit back a nervous grimace.

 

"Yamazaki! I didn't expect to see you tonight!" Nitori stepped back despite himself, gazing up at Sousuke's imposing height.

 

Sousuke offered a smile, small and reserved as always suited his enigmatic countenance. "I can't say I was expecting this either. It's been a few years."

 

"Yeah!" Ai chirped, noticing the way Rin glanced away from their exchange and hid himself with the hair falling loose from behind his ear. "You're really _both_ a pleasant surprise to me. But Rin didn´t mention you last time."

 

There Rin flinched; Nitori made note.

 

"Last time? Do you mean—" Sousuke's eyes widened in realization, his mouth quirked up in a slight smile; he turned his gaze full on Rin's shrinking form. "Aiichiro was the one to neck you to death!"

 

"What?!" Nitori hid behind his hands, only leaving his eyes free as witness—and consequential victim—to Sousuke's teasing.

 

"And you didn't tell me all week! No wonder you were so shy about crossfading; shit—you'd be so easy. And a bit of a slut, but that'd be fine with me." Sousuke brought an arm around Rin's shoulders, pulling him close and nuzzling Rin's ear with his nose.

Nitori clenched his teeth. He huffed out a bout of strained laughter. “Well—” He drew out the sound, reeling back in Rin’s averted eyes like a siren’s bitter song. “It’s really so nice that you came. Want to grab some drinks?” He steeled his glance, and gave Sousuke a venomous smile, whipping around to part the crowd with wordless command.

 

A startled ripple made its way through the room, ever so subtle shifts spreading outward from where Nitori stood, inching away so as not to encroach upon the electric air emanating from his form, imposing from the wicked glow reflected on the luminescence of his blue eyes, emerging in the delicate turn of his hands, in every gesture gracefully fulfilled as he crossed the room.

 

Sousuke did not want to say he was stunned. He did not want to watch the crowd fall away from this slender man’s shadow like a pack of obedient dogs lowering their heads, a room full of shamelessly exposed necks. Sousuke blinked for a few moments to reconcile his mind to the sight.

 

Rin; wonderful Rin; romantic, idealistic, naive Rin, walked behind Nitori with near open-mouthed admiration, glowing affection, and a peculiar sense of possession that made him want to slide his arms over Ai’s narrow shoulders, and whisper warm words into his ear.  The clear path between them—created by the aura radiating off Nitori and moving the crowd away—appeared to him as only a consequence of the evening’s perfection, a place where all desires are beyond sated, they are indulged in selfish degrees. And Rin could accept this, could embrace it, for he could not imagine anything holy under this roof— a temple so domineering it startled away the light of day, nurtured the omnipotence of things such as “fate” and “destiny.”

 

“Divine. Absolutely divine.” Rin muttered under his breath as he glided up to the bar, leaning on the countertop, and dreamily taking in the sight of Ai vexatiously seated on a stool and curtly calling over the bartender with a stiff nod.

 

“Two whiskeys on the rocks; make mine sweet.” Nitori peered sternly into the man’s eyes, closing his mouth with an authoritative click of his teeth. He turned a gentle gaze on Rin, bringing a smile back onto his face with fluid tact. “What would you like, Rin-senpai?”

 

Rin shook his head, scattering his dreamy haze. “To drink? Well, maybe a caipirinha.”

 

“How sweet.” Ai bit his lip for a moment; Rin is sugar cane in essence, a sweet thought and taste to his core. “And a caipirinha.”

 

The bartender nodded, but no one was watching. Ai had turned back to Rin, melting away the tension he had just moments ago. “Did you have plans for tonight, Rin?” He danced his long fingers on the granite, fluttering them across the space between them, and teasing Rin’s hand.

 

“P-plans?” Rin brought his face lower, a nervous heat rushing to his cheeks.

 

But the redness of Rin’s face brought a self-conscious rush to Ai’s; he turned away from Rin’s questioning eyes. “I just wasn’t sure what you wanted, is all. I’m just glad to see you.”

 

Guileless and kind. Rin brought his hand up to cradle Ai’s cheek, and turned his face back to his. “Ai—”

 

Sousuke stumbled into Rin, jostling the hand away from Nitori’s face, and nearly knocking his friend of his seat. “Shit—that crowd is blood thirsty.” He groaned, bracing himself on Rin, grasping his dear friends shoulders like lifeline from the people-burdened sea he surfaced from.

 

But Rin was not so pleased to be a savior tonight. “What the fuck, Sousuke!” Rin grasped Sousuke’s shoulders, poised to shove Sousuke’s weight away.

 

But Ai’s hand slid between the two, halting the moment, and ceasing the storm. “Calm down; the place is busy. But our drinks should be ready soon, so why don’t we get settled?”

 

Rin turned to watch Ai’s smile, the placating and calm expression he never expected to have directed at himself again, not like it always was the first year they met. He bit his lip, and settled in his stool without a word.

 

Sousuke steadied himself and sat beside Nitori, straightening out the wrinkles in his shirt. He looked Nitori up and down, observing the way he sat up straight, hands, carefully placed on his lap. “Nitori, I hope you’re ready to play host. I’ve never been here before, and you seem to know your way around.”

 

“Do you think so, Yamazaki?” Nitori raised an eyebrow, peering at him from the corner of his eye.

 

Sousuke furrowed his brow. He shrugged. “You look it; I’m generally right about these things, Aiichiro.”

 

Nitori turned fully to Sousuke’s nonchalance, he gave a cool smirk. “Well, I’ve already ordered us a nice round of drinks. I hope you like whiskey.”

 

In that moment, the bartender placed a glass in front of Sousuke. There was no ice, and the amber liquid rippled caught the frantic lights of the room in its rippling surface. Sousuke picked up the glass, swirling it leisurely in his hand, watching the contents carefully. “You’re quite generous. I hope you’re invested in a few more rounds before tonight ends, though.”

 

“Drink as much as you like; it’s all on me.” Nitori took up his own glass, and raised it before him. He smiled coyly to Rin, who was watching the exchange quietly, swirling his straw in his drink. Nitori’s voice emerged lilting from his lips, a mischievous pitch in the way he worked the sound. “Prost.”

  
Sousuke couldn’t quite anticipate how generous of a host Nitori intended to be. At the bottom of every whiskey glass, there was another one waiting. An endless fountain like a hedonistic Roman treat. His head felt dense with the liquor, a thick layer of warmth to filter through before he could properly gather himself to respond. He was sitting down, but the floor was unstable. It rocked with the inconsistency of a boat at sea; he was squinting through the darkness of a storm. Nitori’s once bright and neat hair now appeared vague and obscured, blurring into the dark and shifting room around them. And Rin—Rin seemed impossibly distant. A ravine ran between them in the place where Nitori sat, separating Sousuke from his friend’s vibrant energy and bursting laughter. And the amorphous, flickering, floating, silver-haired form was hovering close around his friend, enveloping the bright red beacon in a dense fog, casting Sousuke off in a turbulent sea. There needed to be a way around the fog, this terrible haze that left him alone with the humid air and rocking ship, someway to get back to where he understood. Through his feet emerged a resounding pulse, something like a sound, but more like the deep tremble of a submerged yell traveling through the water. Sousuke pushed off the nearest counter, feeling his weight press down on his ankles; he stumbled into a dense wall of shifting heat as he adjusted to the pressure. This air was warm, almost suffocating. But Sousuke could deal with that; it was infinitely better than the lonely chill of the tempest’s winds. A hand stroked his jaw; a body pressed close to his; a person’s breath reached his ear.

  
Sousuke stumbled into the flow of their movements, melding himself into the room’s current, and falling into the evening’s oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such a shame; I'm so sorry. I'll do my best; I won't quit! (Supercrunch, there was a good amount of alcohol influence here.)
> 
> And sorry, Sousuke, I do love you; this is just how it had to be.
> 
> Oh, and pardon the German—or technically Latin, I think. (i.e. "Prost")


	6. Precarious Exchanges.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a delicate reality to maintain. Without the proper care, it scatters in the wind and is remembered as nothing more than an illusion. 
> 
> Or a lie.

A world of rich laughter, fluttering all the way up to his head, filling up his body with a dense heat that could sustain a fire for days. It was all bound within the remarkably thin layer of alcohol-induced numbness spread over his flesh, trickling in the glancing touch of Ai’s leg bumping into his, the long fingers running along his arm and dancing on the skin of his neck with the tantalizing substantiality of a breath. Rin hardly noticed the deep-buttoned leather sofa they sat on, the one that allowed Ai to be so painstakingly close, but still merely glancing off his body with the insubstantial radiance of light. He brought his hand through the fog of spirits, taking Ai’s face into his palm with the delicacy he would offer a rose. Rin leaned in close enough to rub his nose against the petal soft cheek, taking in the heat coming off the boy’s flushed skin. He heard a light gasp pass through Ai’s lips, the air faintly caressing his skin; the hands once trailing along his body now paused, complying as Rin moved Ai further back; Ai placed one hand on Rin's neck, played with his bright red hair, and teased him with the warmth of his touch.

 

Rin's voice rose up in a thick murmur, humming straight through Ai's skin and making the blood rush madly in his veins. "Where have you been, Ai? You fell right out of my life, why'd you do that to me?"

 

The hand at his neck tugged at his hair; Ai's voice came fleeting, halting to Rin's ears. "I—I didn't mean to. It just happened."

 

Rin lowered his face to Ai's neck, lips skimming over the flushed skin. He mouthed Ai's fluttering pulse with every word. "You _let it_ happen, Ai. Where were you when it didn't work out?" Rin's mouth was relentless; the words sunk in deep. "If only I had you, you were so good."

 

There was nothing but the music and Ai's breathes for a while, Rin's tongue and mouth bruising his skin, colors rising like a blooming field of hyacinths across the smooth expanse that Ai allowed Rin to scour. He felt the sharp teeth prick and play on the increasingly sensitive surface, making him feel thin and fragile. The whiskey was weighing Ai's body down, he hung his head back and spoke through the strain on his throat. "You should have told me; I didn't know you missed it; maybe I—"

 

But Ai was jostled by the way Rin suddenly took his body into his arms, forgetting that they couldn't float on the air that was almost stifling now it was so monstrously thick. They collided with the couch and bounced into each other, Rin's embrace overwhelming Ai's body and devouring him. Every bit of him was covered by Rin from the neck down, Rin's feverish lips working their way onto Ai's jawline, kissing along the curve of his chin like raindrops falling mercifully down from the clouded sky.

 

"Rin—" Ai breathed his name, taking in Rin's kisses, feeling the heat teeming under his skin.

 

Rin shifted, raising himself up to hover over Ai’s body; he slipped his knee between Ai’s legs, and gazed for a moment at the panting, flushed man beneath him. Rin brought a hand to Ai's cheek, then slid it into the soft, silver hair framing his face. “I’m keeping you, Ai.”

 

Ai’s eyes widened briefly as Rin brought his hand down the side of his face again, fingers caressing their way along his jawline, down his neck, playing at his collar. Rin’s fingers began to work at the top button of his shirt, the one nestled just beneath his adam’s apple. A careful pause over that fragile place, and Rin could feel Ai swallow thickly under his touch.  

 

But in that moment of consideration, Ai seized Rin. He grasped Rin’s hands with a swift speed that cut through his lethargic, drunken haze for just a moment. He sliced open a space of sobriety, rushed forward and pushed Rin against the armrest, quickly moving into his lap, and placing his lips at Rin’s ear. Ai’s breaths were short and quick. “Please, Rin. Allow me.”

 

As he spoke, his slender hand slid between their bodies, working down the buttons of Rin's shirt. Ai kissed Rin’s temple gently, lingering there to speak on his skin, an airy voice almost lost in the loud room, the slightest tremble making it thin as paper. “You can surely keep me, senpai.” As he finished with the shirt, Ai slid his hands underneath, pushing back the fabric to expose Rin's chest. He kissed down the side of Rin's face, onto his neck, and moved on to his chest; Ai's hand unbuttoned Rin's pants, then slowly worked down each tooth of the zipper, enjoying the way Rin breathed with every press of his lips and scrape of his teeth. He kissed the skin around Rin's hips, a delicate, teasing touch that gnawed on Rin’s patience. As the layers of Rin’s clothing were peeled back, a rush of cool air startled his sensitive, tingling skin. He drew in a long breath through clenched teeth, waiting for the moment of smoldering heat when Ai’s lips would surround him.   

 

Ai smiled coyly, hand sprawled on Rin's flushed skin. "You can have anything, Rin."

 

* * *

 

At the same time as this turbulent night in the distant pantheon—living hours earlier—sunlight poured in through the window of a pristine, white office. “White,” however, was an oversimplification of the couture textures and shades that furnished, upholstered, and enlivened the room. The owner, surely, would not appreciate the description. A more appropriate simplification might fall along the lines of “baroque” or “expressionist.”

 

His long lashes blinked behind tinted shades, gazing at the skyline of an ancient city merged with modern excellence, a metropolis that shone brightly even as it lay in the palm of his hand. He leaned back in his chair, closing his lucid violet eyes and enjoying the warmth sinking into his skin. Amidst the silence, a bright chime clicked on the desk behind him, and for a moment, he considered ignoring it. But this was his casual phone; the wide touch-screen device with the frivolous pink case. Surely, it would be a pleasure.

 

Kisumi Shigino spun his chair around to face the ornate desk. He glanced at the forgotten card, the one he was delaying. There was an abundance of blank space; although, there wasn’t much available to fill, given the size. But with the precautions necessary to send this card, to make this correspondence, it seemed like such a shame to leave it as it was. It wasn’t a particularly personal one either, although he did feel the past couple of years’ work had earned him a strange sort of intimacy with his correspondent that he didn’t quite understand. The writer in the other timezone had an intriguingly disarming way of putting words together, but Kisumi wasn’t naive enough to offer up his confidence. Instead, he played the part, skating on the surface of it with the charisma he knew he possessed. Their meetings were somehow oddly charged because of this, but Kisumi could only fancy that it was a product of their colliding influence. Neither one of the two really knew which one stood taller, so to speak. But Kisumi was, in fact, literally taller. It gratified him to know it.

 

It would take about a day for this letter to reach its destination—sealed in waxed, tossed into a folder, tucked away in a chest, flown over by a jet, hand delivered to the door, brought up to the room, placed on the desk, and unveiled like Pandora’s box: a marvelous, potentially hazardous exchange. Kisumi pondered for a moment, he played with the pen and tapped his lip. His phone repeated its chime, reminding him that he had a text to answer. Or perhaps it was another message; maybe it was flippantly urgent—as everything connected to that phone was. Kisumi hovered the tip of the pen over the paper; the phone went off again.

 

To hell with prudence. Underneath the greeting, Kisumi scrawled one line: _Sounds like a contract, and a rather unfortunate one._

 

He pushed it aside, and reached for his phone, unlocking the screen and reading it quickly. “Pfft.” He scoffed, seeing the letters sloppily put together, spaces in odd places and typos abound. “He’s drunk. Absolutely wasted. Gone. What time is it there?” He checked the clock on his desk, a remarkably thin gold hand ticking the seconds quietly by. “Eight hours ahead, so it’s—two in the morning. It’s too early to be this gone, Sousuke.” He smiled to the screen, giddily typing away to his distant friend. _If I didn’t know any better, I’d call you a lightweight. Hope it leads to a good night. ;)_

 

He settled back in his chair, turning to the window again. It was a calm evening, and he wanted to watch the sun fall under the horizon like a bleeding wound in the sky. But he had the pestering thought that he was going to be busy soon. It didn’t sit well with him.

 

Kisumi closed his eyes, drifting between sleep and consciousness as he allowed the heaven’s wound to close; darkness engulfed the room. The response would take at least two days to arrive; he needed to have patience.

 

The weight of his eyelids proved ponderous. He shook off the drowsy cloak weighing him down, standing to leave the room. He wouldn’t be sleeping in the office; it’d be rather uncouth to do such a thing.

 

He left the room without sealing the letter. He wanted to give it more time.

 

* * *

 

Time was a luxury. And somehow even illicit dealings couldn’t afford Aiichirou more of it. He wasn’t quite sure how, but even tonight (this morning), he remained painfully conscious of this fact. The dreadful feeling of sunrise roused him from his sleep, but with the insistence of drunk still weighing down his head, it didn’t feel terribly compelling.  

 

There were two conflicting feelings in this moment; rather, there were many—one of which was the discomfort of his bare legs in the open air mitigated by the warmth of Rin’s body beneath his. There was also the frustrating strain of his shirt—still buttoned to the top, even the cuffs clasped relentlessly around his slender wrist—twisted and suffocating around his veiled torso. But even this nuisance brought with it a frustratingly necessary sense of relief, because from the mirror in the room, he still looked stainless and unbound. Every bit of his ornate, heavily-coded ink remained hidden by his now wrinkled linen shirt wavering around his body like a personal fog. Rin hadn’t seen them. Rin hadn’t touched them.

 

The primary sense of conflict, however, emerged from the knowing rush of sunlight over the city, and Aiichirou’s mortal, flawed desire to remain with Rin until he woke up, to see his face as he blinked and fluttered his eyelashes into awareness with Aiichirou in his arms, to unravel the day from there.

 

But it couldn’t be that simple.

 

Aiichirou put himself hastily together.  He walked out of the room without a glance behind him. He made sure not to slam the door. The music had stopped; there was silence claiming the building. All the people that remained were merely stationed attendants, awaiting obligation as night’s cloth was shed and day donned its robes.

 

Aiichirou spotted a footman standing around a corner, surely waiting for the moment he would emerge from the room. Aiichirou walked past him, but even without words or even the slightest gesture, the man readily followed. Their steps echoed down the halls, radiating a hollowness that raised the hair on Aiichirou’s neck. His fingers fidgeted as he walked; he could not tell how steady his gait was, but with the dissonant sense of satisfaction and distress flooding his body, he could not manage to find space in his consciousness to consider it.

 

As a set of white, gold-trimmed doors came to view, Aiichirou picked up his pace. He pushed the doors open with the force of his entire body, feeling the momentum of a pendulum’s swing urging him forward. His hands felt dreamily immaterial as it was dense and viscous, compelled by a sort of gravity as he tore the first page of a book from its binding, and madly rushed letters onto the page, watching as intent turned to ink on paper.

 

Aiichirou folded the paper in half; he leaned on a desk with his head hanging down, speaking through heavy breaths. “He can’t be here when he wakes up.”

 

He held the paper up without removing his gaze from the floor. Aiichirou felt as the paper slid out from between his fingers; his footman spoke. “Yes, Aiichirou, sir.”

 

The door clicked close as Aiichirou settled to the floor. He leaned his back against the desk, raising his knees up to his chest. Sunlight began to fall through the window between the spaces of the curtains, bringing down a long bar of clarity across the room and in Aiichirou’s line of sight. He sighed, though, and leaned his head back against the desk. He closed his eyes, determined to reclaim time somewhere else, in a different sort of easing sleep.

  
But there is euphoria, and there is ease. The difference settled bitter and stinging on his tongue as he drifted back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...am...really sorry. I'm not going to go with excuses here, but I will say that I'm not dropping this. 
> 
> If you would like music recommendations that probably don't suit the chapter, I would recommend the song I am currently listening to: "In your Eyes" by Kylie Minogue. I'm in a strange mood with music now, and I just sort of enjoy the enigmatic sound of the song. 
> 
> Also, what kind of rating do you give like implied sex? I don't know what I'm doing with that shit, but from here on out the rating is changing based on the details in each chapter. I don't want to catch anyone off guard, so I would recommend checking the tags and such before each new chapter!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


End file.
